Weight of the Heart
by Kristanci
Summary: In response to a fic challenge: Where are Ramon and Siroc during the "Exile" episode? Ramon finds comfort in a church, but Siroc is being haunted by his past. Note: This was made several years ago, and I made as many corrections as possible. Enjoy.


Author's note: I found this fic buried in my documents on an old computer. It pertains to a fanfic challenge that was issued years ago. The challenge: Create a fic that explains where Siroc and Ramon were during the episode "The Exile".

Captain Duval's kept his focus on the documents were piled on top of his desk. Each one went over exactly every one of his musketeers' scheduled departures and returns. He did not mind sending them on a small vacation every now and then. They deserved it a break, every single one of them. He was proud of the young men that he trained day in and day out. Duval would even likely go as far to say that he considered the musketeers like he would his own children. Today, he would be sending Siroc and Ramon out for the remainder of the week.

A shelf next to him suddenly collapsed, dropping several books and figurines to the ground shattering the comfortable silence. Captain Duval eyed a sandy haired musketeer suspiciously.

Siroc sucked in his lower lip and fumbled with his hands, looking for the right words to say. Ramon was standing next to him, his face buried in his right hand, sighing heavily. "At least I gave the bolts and nails for your desk back, sir," Siroc said hastily.

Captain Duval handed Siroc and Ramon their papers still glaring at the inventor with a glare. "One week. I do not want to see you here for… One. Whole. Week," he said sternly. There are times when his pride for the exceptionally bright young man wavered. Siroc was curious… sometimes too curious for the well being of Duval's office.

"Yes, sir," both men said hurriedly and made their way through the captain's door. They heard a low mutter of curses behind them, and decided to walk faster.

Within the next hour, both men finished packing their belongings, preparing for the week ahead of them. Ramon had no intention of traveling far from the musketeer academy. He knew exactly what he would be doing, and how he would be spending every waking minute of it. The thought of a vacation had kept his mind from a certain young woman who had stolen his heart nearly a month ago. Their little romance had ended in tragedy, but he refuse to let that burden him. He felt solace knowing that there was some sincerity in her feelings for him; it just was not meant to be.

Ramon swung his pack over his shoulders, and began humming a merry tune. He passed by a fellow musketeer whom he gave a low bow, loudly announcing his departure.

"Going to see the family, Ramon?" the young man asked.

"Something like that," Ramon answered still keeping the hum in rhythm. He danced around the musketeer and happily skipped out the door.

His heart leapt in anticipation, but the sudden burst of joy was not for his immediate family. None of his friends knew his history, his painful past. He refused to tell them that his own blood, his family had banished him from all ties. True, he was good with a sword because of his father, but that was all the credit he would ever give the man. For years, he had suffered, unable to turn to anyone. However, during that time he found a certain peace, a harmony that only he understood. It was something that he could truly call his own. He found his sanctuary in his poetry; it was more than just words to him. The sadness that consumed him left over time, and it was replaced by renewed hope and pure bliss.

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Siroc packed away a few candles, quills, accompanied by many scrolls of parchment. He was looking forward to the seven days. He enjoyed his company here at the musketeer garrison, but there are times when one just wished to be alone. Being around the over dramatic, yet poetic Ramon, the adventurous heroic D'Artagnan, and the secretive Jacque made him yearn for a break. He had a special place in his heart for them and would never trade their friendship for anything, but sometimes he just needed solitude.

He met up with Ramon at the stables soon after. Ramon had already mounted a dark mare, but it seemed that he waited for Siroc to say a farewell.

"You cannot wait to leave, no?" Ramon asked, gripping the reigns tightly in his hands.

"Did you see the look on the captain's face?" Siroc asked in light humor. "If I gave him the chance, he would take away my hard earned break and have me cleaning the lavatories."

"It's not a fun way to spend the afternoon," said a man behind them.

D'Artagnan appeared from the entrance of the stables looking as smug as ever. "Because of that, I had to miss my date," he said with regret.

"Oh?" Ramon chuckled with amusement. "You mean the date with the most beautiful girl in world? Was that not days ago?"

"Why didn't you schedule for another one, or are you lacking in your charm?" Siroc asked with a large smile. It was always amusing to team up with Ramon when it came to picking on d'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan stood bewildered for a moment. He couldn't tell them that Jacques stole Charlotte's heart away from him. No, not Jacques, Jacqueline did. That was frustrating beyond anything, but the smile that Siroc gave him made him believe that the inventor knew more than he was letting on. "Well, you two have fun."

"I am sorry, D'Artagnan, to leave you like this. Jacques will be back soon, tomorrow in fact," Ramon said. He was now guiding the horse out of the stables eager to begin his mini holiday.

"Don't worry about me," D'Artagnan said in mock hurt. "I have plenty to amuse myself with. Stables, horses… hay," he added, picking up a handle of straw.

Siroc was also beginning to leave, but bent forward and patted D'Artagnan on the back while passing him. "Captain Duval's bookshelf needs fixing. I'm sure you can figure that on your own."

"You didn't…" D'Artagnan started, but Siroc gave him a dashing grin and rode away. That was the third office supply that he had taken apart in a month.

D'Artagnan stood there for moment watching two of his comrades ride away until they turned a corner vanishing from sight. He wondered what he could do till Jacques came back. She seemed to be avoiding him lately, and he just couldn't have that. She made life so much more interesting, yes, he would have to find her soon.

"D'Artagnan."

He turned to see Captain Duval walking to him with a serious look on his face. 'This can't be good,' D'Artagnan thought. "Yes, sir?"

"What a time to be letting those two go," Captain Duval sighed in a regretful tone.

"What is the matter, sir?"

Captain Duval lifted handed a document to D'Artagnan. "Do you know anything of a General Cromwell…?"

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"So my friend, where will you be spending the next week?" Ramon asked Siroc as they rode together down the streets of France.

"Where else?" his comrade answered. "In the greatest architecture ever created by man."

Ramon took a moment to think of what Siroc would consider a great architecture. Siroc was man before his time, but that would never put a block on their friendship. He had to admit that Siroc had very interesting tastes in the way of entertainment. Whenever the man had free time he would spend it reading… "The library?" Ramon suggested. The grin on the inventor's face was the only answer he needed.

"Being with the musketeers doesn't always allow me the pleasure of a trip to paradise." A wide smile touched Siroc's lips as he fantasized reading book after book, page after page within the confinements of his sanctuary. He broke away from his thoughts. "What about you, Ramon?"

"The first place that I intend to stop at…" he said slowing down. He looked to his left, gazing upon the holy building in front of them. Stone steps led up to twin doors that always remained open to those in need or required comfort.

"The small church?" Siroc asked with a small frown.

"You do not believe, yes?" Ramon inquired, not at all offended.

Siroc patted his friend on the shoulder with his left hand, keeping the mare steady with the right. "I am a man of science, my friend, not much of faith."

Ramon dismounted from his horse and tied it securely to a nearby fence. "Ah, I see. But faith does not seem completely void from you. Do you not place faith in your inventions, that they will succeed and work as planned?"

Siroc said nothing; he couldn't. He wore an expression of mixed feelings, his brow creasing slightly. Since he, Ramon, and D'Artagnan had enlisted in the musketeers, they bonded with one another, friendship already blooming between them. However, tales of their pasts were never shared. Each knew that the other carried heavy burdens in their hearts, but would not pressure them into revealing wounds they did not want to. As the years passed by, it has been so. The only one who had been the most open of his childhood was of course, d'Artagnan. But even he did not enjoy recalling the stories of a father he hardly saw.

Curiosity only went so far because the respect and the relationships that they shared would stop it. '_Faith_,' Siroc thought. "I abandoned the thought long ago," he said out loud for Ramon to hear him.

Ramon stopped him, holding up his hand politely, knowing full well that his friend hid a painful that he carried for a long time. "I know. I will see you in one week?" he asked bringing the first smile to the awkward conversation.

Siroc returned it, glad that the tension had broke. "In one week!" he called out and rode away.

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Ramon treaded up the steps of the church passing by a few people who were just leaving the afternoon sermon. They gave him a cheerful wave, recognizing the blue coat of a musketeer, and returned the greeting. He did not know why, but the moment he passed through the doorway of the church, he felt as though the world was no longer hanging at his shoulders. His responsibilities disappeared as did the memories of his family. The memory of his father remained outside the doorway as though it was almost forbidden to enter such a sacred place.

He knelt by one of the pews, his fingers touching his forehead before they were brought to his lips. He heard scuffling feet behind him and turned to see a elderly woman dressed in black robes holding her arms out to him. It never failed to amaze him to see such life emanating from the small plump woman. "My dear boy. Ramon," she said happily with much affection.

He wrapped his arms around her with as much love any child would have for his mother. "Mother Bedelia," he greeted with joy. She stepped away from him, clutching his hands in her own looking him over. Her old eyes held a great sparkle, like a star in a cloudless sky.

"My you look as handsome as ever," she exclaimed, touching his cheeks.

"My last visit was just weeks ago," he laughed. "Surely, such a short amount of time could not have changed me drastically."

She let out a bit of a pout and led him to another door that stood behind the main room of the church. "My dear, with the work that you do, I am always happy to see your face unmarred and untouched. Come, come. They are waiting for you."

Ramon felt his heart lift in anticipation when he opened the door to the outside. Children were playing in an open yard, yelling and laughing at each other. Some were waving sticks around intent on mimicking a grand sword fight. Four boys in particular were putting their hearts into the act. Two wore blue blankets over their shoulders while another group of boys had red scarves wrapped around their waists. A pair of girls were standing next to a tree pretending to be bound, playing the role of the captured damsel. They screamed for their rescuers to hurry and save them.

One boy in red fell to the ground in defeat and he was tapped by a stick. "Ha!" cried the victor. "You cannot stand against the mighty D'Artagnan!" He tied his stick to his hip and ran to save the girls that were bundled by the large tree.

Soon after, the other boy in red stood defeated as well, surrendering his "sword" to the tiny musketeers. "The cardinal's men cannot overcome the might forces of D'Artagnan and…" but then his eyes gazed past his friends. "Ramon!" he yelled and broke out into a run.

Ramon was entranced by the display of the mini musketeers fending off the cardinal's men. He laughed as the boy jumped on top of him crushing his chest in a fierce hug. When the boy yelled his name, more of the children turned their attention to him. They also ran to him, saying his name, crowding around him to hug him.

"You are a lot stronger than the last time I saw you, little ones. But you must be careful not to shout too loud so that the Cardinal's men can hear you. Something tells me he won't appreciate the little games that you all like to play," he said becoming overpowered by the mass of small bodies piling on top of him. All of them promised that they would keep their voices hushed. His voice was drowned out when the children began asking him dozens of questions. Mother Bedelia could not contain the laughter she contained when she saw the children beaming with glee at Ramon's return. He looked at her asking silently for her permission, but she waved it off.

"Go," she insisted. "They have been waiting anxiously."

Ramon picked up two girls, one in each arm, and started walking into the open yard. The crowd of boys followed still asking their questions, wondering where he had been, if he would be staying with them longer this time. He smiled. God works in mysterious ways.

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Siroc turned to another page intent on finding more information that he could use for another of his inventions. So far, absolutely nothing. He closed the massive book in annoyance, ignoring the dust that shot out from the old pages. He tossed it aside on top of a series of books he had already been through. Nothing had spiked his interest or given him motivation to create. '_I have been sitting here for hours. Might as well have a nice walk to clear my head,_' he thought to himself. He stood, stretching his legs feeling his muscles burn in protest.

_Thump._

His senses piqued for a moment, and he instinctively grabbed for his rapier that was resting against the edge of the long table he used as a desk. He listened for any other noises, but there were none. Suddenly, he felt somewhat foolish for drawing out a weapon in the middle of the library. He looked around for anyone, but there was not a soul in sight. The sun had set nearly two hours ago, so anyone who had any in the leaves of the library had probably gone home. Treading up and the down the different aisles, he began hunting for the anything that may have caused the sound. His foot kicked something rather small and petite in the third aisle that he checked. It was a book.

"What a surprise," he said in bland humor. "What would a book be doing here in a library?" He picked it up and observed its contents. It did not look like much. There was no title, and it was even missing the name of the writer who would claim it as their own. The tiny book was bent and cracked, and he noticed that some of the pages were torn as he flipped through it, but the words were still intact. To him, that was all that mattered. Curious, he read the first sentence that he happen to come across. The handwriting was elegant, graceful and consistent. Whoever had written this had taken great care to write as perfectly as their fingers could manage.

'Do not feel that you must carry the overbearing load of burden yourself.'

Siroc just stared at the combination of words for a moment. Almost as if another force was bending his body and mind to its will, he read on.

'Other souls seek comfort and relief as much as your own does. Family, love, friendship, understanding, and acceptance are the key to lessening the weight that pains your heart.'

Siroc scoffed at the statements. "I have no family, no love, no frie…" he stopped himself. But he did. He had friends that would gladly die for him, and he knew that he would do the same if given the chance. "How could they possibly understand? They do not know what it is like," he said to himself. At the moment, he didn't think it was awkward talking to a book. He read the next few lines.

'The bonds that are found in life come in different appearances and forms. As the ties with those you have grown to love become stronger, the link that has coiled around your soul begins to weaken. In turn, the same is said for them. Time provides the range while love provides the opportunity. With them, you will learn to let go of the burden you have, for they will help you carry it. Equally, you will help carry the burdens that they have.

Siroc pursed his lips and let out a mocking short laugh , rereading the lines again. "That's the most ridiculous thing... Giving burdens to each other… that is the same as fully carrying your own. There is no difference at all." He found himself back to the desk he occupied minutes ago. Looking at the tiny book once more, he shook his head and added it to the growing pile of discarded volumes.

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'_Only two more days I can spend with them_,' Ramon thought sadly. '_Where did the time go_?' The last five days have been filled with pure joy for Ramon, and he knew that it was coming to an end. He smiled, '_It will not be the last time I see them. Be a man Ramon._' He and Mother Bedelia had spent the last few days teaching the children, guiding them in the ways of the world that they would one day face. But Ramon also reserved many hours of the day to simply play with the children. There were times when he found himself becoming both the father figure and the elderly brother figure. He never took the time to distinguish the two because he was just ecstatic to be loved unconditionally.

"Ramon, when will I be able to be a great musketeer like you?" asked a little boy as the Spanish musketeer was tucking him and the others into bed.

"When you are stronger, Luc," Ramon said, pulling the covers up to three small chins. Each bed was big enough to hold a trio of bodies and keep them warm throughout the night. Mother Bedelia had offered a large portion of the church to any child who had no one to turn to. Either their families had left them or perished, but what ever the reason, Mother Bedelia had made her life's promise to raise them.

"You told me that I was stronger yesterday," Luc protested, wiggling his body to make sure it was covered completely by the thick blanket.

"Si, I did that say that," Ramon chuckled. "But in order to be a guard of the king, you must not only be strong, but you must be smart. You must learn to read and to write, and you must be as tall as I am."

Luc scowled, his bottom lip stuck out in a pout. "That will take years and years!"

Ramon nodded, patting Luc on his head. "It will, but then, only then can you become a musketeer."

Ramon could see the little boy's eyes widen in anticipation. He could only imagine what was going on in Luc's mind. It gave him great joy to see the children looking toward their future rather than dreading it. "I can't wait!" Luc said ecstatically.

From across the room, a tiny plea was uttered. "Ramon, tell us a story," said little Danielle. The other children agreed and encouraged their big brother to tell them one of his adventurous tales. Ramon thought for a moment, and placed his hand under his chin pretending to be in deep thought. He acted as though he had come up with the perfect story, but then he shook his head muttering, "no, no, no." Several of the children laughed when they could make out the expressions he showed them.

"I think," Ramon started. "That I will tell you about the first time I came here to this very church." He heard the groans of disappointment from the boys and girls around him, but they did not refuse him. "There is no adventure, but there is something to be learned." He began by clearing his throat loudly. The children now jumped out from underneath their covers and lay down at the foot of their beds.

"The first night I came here, I also met Mother Bedelia. Right before I had enlisted to the academy of the musketeers, I chanced upon coming to this church. I had never been to church before, you see."

"Why not?" asked Phillipe.

"Because I was angry at God," Ramon said. He thought about this remark, then changed it. "No, that is not right. I was not angry with him, but I took out my frustration on Him. I confessed to God my anger, my agony that I felt when I had thought of my father. You see, little ones, I disliked my father very much, and I had felt this way since as long as my memory allows."

The children listened intently. They did not disagree with Ramon loathing his father, for he knew they felt the same for their own parents. They knew that they were unwanted and abandoned, but they were still young. The feeling of being forsaken had not turned to hatred yet. Ramon knew what it was like, how it feels to be unwelcome, but he prayed and hoped that his influence on them will change everything their visions of the lives they had ahead of them. He never had anyone next to him, telling him that he was not the only one. He did not see anyone else being tormented as he was, but these children had each other, and they had Mother Bedelia.

Ramon continued. "Mother Bedelia overheard me talking to God, asking him why I my father did not want me. Mother put her had on my shoulder and she knelt by me. She told me an important thing, little ones."

"What did she tell you?" asked Luc.

"She told me to forgive. I asked her how, and she told me with time and with love. I said that I had no love to give or to receive, but how blind I was." He knelt by Luc's bed, smiling at every young face. "I met you children," Ramon's voice broke slightly. "Because of you, I have learned to forgive my father and the lashes he had dealt me, and because of you I have learned to feel and give love."

The children jumped off of their beds, and crowded around Ramon, hugging him with all their might. He opened his arms to them and hugged them back, feeling the tears that slipped through the corners of his eyes.

A familiar hand was again placed on his shoulder, and he turned to see Mother Bedelia standing next to him. She kissed his forehead. "I love you, my dear boy."

"I love you as well, Mother. I love you as well."

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He ran as fast as he possibly could, not caring that the jagged rocks were cutting into his feet. Thick sharp branches grabbed at his face, scratching and tearing at his cheeks, but still he kept running. His breathing came in short gasps, but he willed himself to go on. If he stopped now, everything that he had done up until this very moment would be in vain. No, he would not let himself be captured. His eyes glanced down at his hands, and he felt the stinging tears. Blood. His hands were covered in their blood, but it was not him. He didn't kill them, his masters did.

He found the only people he ever loved lying on the blood stained wooden floor. His brother, only eight years old was already gone, dead. His sister, beaten and broken, held on by a thread. He dropped to his knees in agony, unable to contain the sobs that wrenched from his throat. His arms wrapped tightly around his sister's frame, clutching her to his chest.

"Siroc," came the small whisper. "Siroc."

He blinked, trying to clear his eyes. "Elise. Elise, don't leave me…" he pleaded.

"Leave me here," she said, even softer. "Henri and I want you to live… leave us here." Her voice became raspy with each word.

"No, no," he said, becoming angry. "I will not. I refuse!" The tears now came uncontrollably as the sorrow passed through his body and his soul. He looked down at her knowing full well that he could not save her, and it broke his heart. With that realization, he picked her up with determination. "I cannot save your life, but I will make sure that your soul rests in peace. Yours and Henri's."

She died in his arms that night. Her breathing had ceased, and her large brown eyes had closed. He wept as he dug further and further into the ground, oblivious that his fingers were raw and bleeding. For hours, he continued to dig, driven by rage and anguish. There, in that spot next to the garden, he buried his two younger siblings.

He swore revenge, he promised them that their souls would be at peace, but he could not carry it out today. The marks on his back, and the bruises that covered his body, and the countless bones that had been broke told him that he did not have the strength physically to carry out his wish. It was only the plea of his sister that made him stay away. If she did not tell him to live, he would gladly face his death without fighting, so that he could join them.

"Where is he! Where is that stupid slave!" yelled a voice, from inside the house.

Siroc panicked, but told himself to stay calm and recollect his thoughts. He looked to the loose soil that covered his brother and sister. "I will come again. I will come back for you," he promised. He leaned down and kissed the graves. With every ounce of will he possessed, he tore himself away from the graves and ran.

Siroc awoke with a start, falling off his chair and landing painfully on the stone cold floor. Sweat beaded his face, and he felt his heart beating in his head. His blood ran cold as the memories of his brother and sister came in a giant flood, invading his mind. He stood with a jolt, taking in his surroundings. Shelves…books… he looked to the desk. Formulas, noted observations, tested theories littered the rectangular table. '_I'm in the library_,' he thought. He let out a long slow breath, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

'_Why did I dream of that night_?' he wondered. He could feel the growing emptiness return, and it was a pain he hadn't felt for years. It seemed so real, as though the terrible night was relived over again. Siroc fell into his chair, exhausted and drained. His eyes fell upon that little book that he threw aside days ago. He felt that is was telling him to let go. "What do you know?" he asked out loud. He glared at the beaten cover, and it stared back at him. "Why? Why does it still haunt me after all these years? It has been settled!" He bent forward and buried his face in his sweaty hands. "That part of my life is over and done with, so why? Why do I still feel this burden?" he whispered. His throat tightened, and the words came out in choked gasps. He gazed upon the small book, and let out a mocking laugh. "I've lost my mind… I'm arguing with a book." Then he felt it again. That will that overcame his body before had come back even stronger, and before he knew it, he reached for the book and opened it.

'Though the past remains the past, it still affects the present and future. Do not let it consume you, this burden of fear, doubt, sadness, or rage. Lift it from your heart, mind, and soul.'

"And how do I do that?" he asked, this time not in mockery. He did not want to feel this way any longer. To bear this feeling till the day he died, saddened him, but he would not let anyone know. It was not in his nature to let down his guard, to permit anyone to understand him. Perhaps... perhaps that was the problem. He turned the page, hoping that he could find some type of answer or even the beginning to one.

'Others feel this unbearable weight upon them as well, so you must share it for both party's sakes. To find comfort, you must seek it in others. The difference of carrying only a fraction of your own burden and a portion of their own is…'

And he understood, realizing how foolish he was. "That I am not alone," he said along with the words that finished the hopeful statement.

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Luc pulled on Ramon's hand with every bit of strength he had. "Why do you have to leave tomorrow? A week is not enough time to spend with you," he groaned as he was being dragged behind Ramon as the musketeer began packing away some of his belongings. Finally, Ramon picked up Luc and set him on his bed. He knelt in front of him and placed his hands on both of his shoulders. "Luc, you wish to be a musketeer, yes?" he asked.

Luc nodded, but a scowl was still present on his face.

"Another part of being a musketeer is that you must have unconditional love for your king. Because of that loyalty, you must put it ahead of many things that you hold dear," he said, patting Luc on the head. "That does not mean that I love you and the others any less. Do you understand?"

Luc sat on his bed quietly, refusing to cry. His lips pressed together forming a small pout, but he held it in. "You told me musketeers don't cry. I want to be a musketeer," he said with determination.

Ramon smiled and hugged the boy. They separated when he heard a knock on his door. Mother Bedelia emerged, giving Ramon a small bow. "I am sorry, Ramon, but there is someone here for you. He asked for you in great urgency."

"For me?" Ramon said in a groan. He prayed it was not a messenger from Captain Duval asking him to report back one day early. He wanted to cherish every moment he had with his family. His mind felt at ease whenever he thought of Mother Bedelia and the little ones. His family. Never did he imagine that he would find such a love again.

Ramon sighed, feeling the weight of the musketeer oath on his shoulders. "Where is he?"

Mother Bedelia gave him a little hug, and whispered in his ear. "He is in the church. I think you will be quite pleased."

Ramon let himself be ushered out of his room gently by Mother Bedelia. '_Pleased_?' he thought. '_Pleased about being sent back earlier than expected_?' He shook his head in disappointment, but he let his feet carry him to the church. He thought about ways to get back at Duval. Perhaps, he would recite his morning poetry a little louder around the captain's room when he walked by. Maybe he should perform it in a terrible fake French accent, emphasizing the wrong stresses in each word. Yes, his revenge would be sweet.

He came in through the back of the church, coming around the main alter, and he stopped. He blinked in surprise to see someone he believed lacked faith, sitting with his hands grasping each other, looking as though he were in prayer.

Siroc was sitting in the front pew, eyes were downcast, and he was hunched over. When Ramon had a closer look he realized that Siroc was reading something.

"Siroc?" Ramon said in surprise.

The inventive musketeer jumped to his feet in alarm, but as he saw Ramon he calmed. "Ramon…I uh…" he started. He began stuttering over his words, trying to figure out what to say. He started pacing along the the length of the pew. "That is to say, I went to the library as planned… you should have seen the place, Ramon," he said in forced glee. "There was so much information, so many books and scroll. But there was a book that I found... though I don't think it was meant to be in a libary. I'm not making any sense, am I?" he muttered again.

Ramon stood still, patient and waiting. Something had changed Siroc since the last time they were together. A week ago, Siroc would not even think of entering a church of his own free will. However, he now found Siroc staring at the large cross hanging above the altar. While Siroc was fumbling with his hands, Ramon noticed a small book that he possessed. "My friend," Ramon said.

Siroc stopped and looked at Ramon, realizing he was staring at the book he held. "I saw this, actually, it fell from the shelves. For some reason, I read it, not knowing what the pages contained, but I read it and it…made me think." He slowly sank back into the wooden pew, grabbing a hold of the armrest. "There are some things that I never told anyone. Not even Captain Duval when he took me in." He stopped talking. After all these years of holding in the pain that he felt, he was going to release his secret to open ears. This was it, the moment of truth.

To make his friend understand, he grasped the collar of his shirt and pulled down, revealing the beginnings of a large scar by his shoulder that started at the base of his neck. "I was a slave, Ramon."

Ramon said nothing. He nodded his head giving Siroc reassurance that he was listening sincerely, and that he wanted him to continue.

"The people that owned me, the ones who owned my brother and sister…" Siroc found it difficult to speak now. He cleared his throat, trying to keep it from closing. "My "masters," he said with malice, "killed them. They beat my brother and sister to death, when they grew too weak to work for them. It wasn't fair that I survived, but I sought revenge." He felt the anger welling back up, the hatred began a new when he pictured his sister's beaten face. "I wanted with every bit of my being to have those monsters' deaths at my hands, but then I knew if that were to happen, I would not have the right to visit Elise and Henri." They would not want me to be a murderer. So when I enlisted in the musketeers, I found those people, those murderers, and I saw them hang for what they had done, but…" Siroc now choked on his words. "Elise and Henri are still..."

Ramon now drew near to Siroc and placed a hand on his shoulder. "My friend, you have been carrying this for how many years?" he asked.

Siroc let out a breath, trying to ease the tight pain in his chest. "Years… it must have been ten years or so."

"You never told anyone," Ramon said, not in a question but as a statement.

Siroc nodded. He dedicated all those years to studies, to become brilliant in mind, to make him forget everything that happened. His heart, however, would not let him. "No matter what I did, it all came back. Flying contraptions, sub- aquatic chambers, even the plans for the moisturizing cleanser… the memories came back."

Ramon grabbed the book from Siroc's hands. "This book… did you know that it was a journal?" he asked.

Siroc looked at him in subtle shock and shook his head. "No, I didn't think of it that way. I thought it was a text for guidance. Do you know who it belongs to?"

Ramon gave him a wide smile. "Yes, would you like to meet her?" he offered. "She is actually the one that you met earlier, Mother Bedelia." Ramon gestured for Siroc to follow him the way that he came in. Siroc did not resist at all.

When they reached the open yard, a small group of children greeted them. Mother Bedelia slowly walked up to them, awaiting her turn to greet Siroc. Ramon calmed them and picked up the nearest child in his arms. It was a girl with long brown hair, and large auburn eyes. She looked at Siroc and giggled. "Are you a musketeer like Brother Ramon?" she asked.

Siroc nodded, stunned that these children greeted Ramon in such a warm manner. He did not feel like the only one who kept secrets anymore. Ramon seemed to keep a few of his own, but because of those secrets it was obvious he found comfort in these children. He wondered if he and Ramon suffered the same over these past years. "Yes, yes I am," he answered warmly. "My name is Siroc."

Ramon turned to Siroc and offered for him to take her in his arms instead. Siroc was never comfortable with children. Give him a wrench or a hammer, and he would cherish it, but this was something new. He stretched out his arms, and she fit perfectly in his embrace. She wrapped her arms around his neck. "My name is Elita," she chirped. "It means light."

Another boy grabbed his pants leg, requiring attention as well. "My name is Phillipe. Ramon says that when we are bigger and stronger, we can be musketeers just like you."

"Did he also say that you needed to be smart?" Siroc asked, and the boy nodded vigorously. Siroc felt his chest swelling with a bitter-sweet happiness. He was certain that if his sister and brother were alive now, he would feel the same warmth and comfort in their presence.

He saw Mother Bedelia give a warm look of understanding. "I see," she began, "that you found my journal, Brother Siroc. I was wondering where I had left that." She held out her hand, and Siroc placed the petite book in her outstretched fingers. She turned through a few of the pages, and chuckled. "Ahh, yes, the memories."

"Thank you," he said with sincere gratitude. "I do not know how it came to be in my possession…" he stopped when she handed it back to him. "Oh no, I couldn't, Mother…"

"Keep it, child," she insisted, touching his cheek lightly. "There is a reason for everything."

Siroc could not stop the tears that formed in his eyes. Elita looked at him in concern.

"What's wrong, Brother Siroc?" she asked.

For the first time in days, probably years, he began to laugh, and the tears that touched his eyes were of happiness. He picked up Phillipe in his other arm, enjoying the new type of pressure that weighed on his arms and chest. "Nothing, Elita. Nothing is wrong at all."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jacques scoffed, slicing another piece of cheese in two and placing it on her bread. "That man was disgusting. I mean…didn't you see that wart on his head?"

D'Artagnan could not agree more. "I thought the huge lug that worked in the dungeons was the ugliest man in the world, but I stand corrected. General Cromwell by far makes him look like a distant second."

"I can't believe the king sent him back with the treaty unsigned. He is getting more opinionated with each day that goes by," Jacques said, with her mouth half full of food.

D'Artagnan looked at her in mock disgust. "First of all, I think it's an exceptionally good thing that his majesty is starting to grow a backbone, and second of all, close your mouth. That is very unladylike."

Jacques threw him another one of her infamous You-Think-You're-So-Cute looks and returned to her food. "I kind of miss being around Ramon and Siroc. Shouldn't they be back soon?"

"Can't wait to get rid of me, huh?" D'Artagnan said playfully.

"Can you tell?"

"I await to see my love again, as my ship set sails from the docks. I yearn for her touch, but I will be brave, for it is only her that makes my heart… Jacques! D'Artagnan!" greeted Ramon upon seeing his two beloved friends. He and Siroc had entered Café Nouveau with obvious grand cheer and light hearts. They joined the other half of their foursome, seating themselves down between Jacques and D'Artagnan.

"You seem to be in high spirits," D'Artagnan mused. "Good trip?"

"Excellent trip!" Ramon excalimed. He waved over a bar maid. "Madame, two more drinks this way, make mine a coffee, and the other…" he looked to Siroc in question.

"Coffee?" Siroc said with disdain. "This should be a day of celebration. Two glasses of wine for us," he called to the bar maid, and she bowed, then ran to the bar.

Ramon clapped his hands together. "But of course! Two glasses of wine it shall be!"

Jacques and D'Artagnan looked at one another, puzzled and bewildered. "Exactly, what are we celebrating?" Jacques asked. She wiped the crumbs from her mouth with her palm. "Did something happen that we should know about? After all, a week is a long time for events to occur for a musketeer."

The maid came back with two more glasses. Siroc grabbed for one and stood, holding out his glass. "I propose a toast, gentlemen."

"To the musketeers?" D'Artagnan asked.

"No," Siroc said. He looked to Ramon, and the Spanish musketeer rose with him outstretching his arm eager to connect his cup with the others.

"To friends," Siroc smiled.

"And to family," Ramon added, clapping a hand on Siroc's shoulder.

Jacques and D'Artagnan smiled with approval and stood to their feet as well, lifting their drinks and with a ring of glasses they said together, "to friends and family."


End file.
